


Speechless

by Edoraslass, just_ann_now



Series: Under My Wing [32]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Amroth Nanny, Bitty!Faramir, Domestic workers are my favourite OCs, Gen, Guest author-just_ann_now, bitty!Boromir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Faramir Has Quite a Surprise for Nanny</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

~*~

“To market, to market to buy a fat pig,” Faramir chirped.

“Home again, home again, jiggedy–jig,” Boromir replied, the “jiggedy-jig” always accompanied by bouncing and tickling that left them both rosy-cheeked and gigling.

Other than a garbled version of his brother’s name, those were two-year-old Faramir’s only words so far. I was not worried, though the Lord Denethor seemed somewhat concerned; I had seen enough babies to know that each moved at their own pace, and would speak when they were ready. Boromir, though, was sorely frustrated; he was eager to have long brotherly conversations, and pestered me every day: “When do you think he will talk?”

One day, as I sat mending, I was startled to hear a quiet voice, not too far from my knee, asking, “Will we go to market for a present for Bo’mir?” The only human anywhere in the vicinity was Faramir, sitting on the floor amidst his pile of wooden animals, eyeing me solemnly.

“What shall we get him?” I asked, too stunned to think of any other reply. I had heard of children who kept their own counsel, waiting to speak until they had (to their own mind) mastered the intricacies of grammar and conversation. I knew from observation that Faramir was a bright child; I should have realized that he would be one of these deep thinkers.

“A fat pig!” He chortled at his own wit, and went back to his game, refusing to speak again, merely smiling. I began to wonder if I did, in fact, spend too much time with children and not enough with adults.

~*~

I occasionally brought the boys to visit the market with me, accompanied by a guard, so it was a simple matter to slip away one morning while Boromir was occupied with his tutor. For several weeks Boromir had been excitedly discussing his birthday, considering the likelihood of receiving various gifts. A real sword? Perhaps, I told him, or at least a metal one, a step up from the wooden practice sword he had been using for the past two years. A pet basilisk? He had become quite intrigued by these mythical creatures, reading all he could find, steadfastly refusing to accept that they might not exist. A horse of his very own, to replace the staid pony who had been his patient companion for so long? This was a distinct possibility, in fact a very likely probability, though I of course would never spoil that surprise.

We enjoyed our morning’s excursion. Faramir was light for his age, and not a squirmer, but good-natured and curious. I kept trying to draw him out, hoping he would speak more, but he merely smiled mischievously at me. I planned to visit a certain baker’s stall, famous for gingerbread pigs; and sincerely hoped that Faramir was not expecting to see a real pig. I had not quite figured out how I would deal with his disappointment if he did not get to see one. Faramir was not usually prone to tantrums, but knowing now that he did observe and digest everything that went on around him, I could no longer be quite sure of the predictability of his behavior. How much had he chosen to learn from his brother?

“Lookit! Look!” My musings were interrupted by his piping voice.

“Where, love? What am I looking at?”

“There, there, look! Fat pigs!”

I whirled around, trying to figure out what he was pointing at so excitedly. We were in the greengrocer’s area, surrounded by stalls full of fragrant melons and blackberries, carrots and kale and red onions. What was he talking about?

“Look, look!” He was pointing at a basket of lemons, huge and golden, their scent bringing me back immediately to the lush groves near my home. But what on this good earth did they have to do with pigs?

“Fat pigs, fat pigs, fat pigs,” he gurgled. The laughing matron handed him a small lemon, just the right size to fit in his hands, and then I caught the resemblance of the lumpy stems to snouts and tails. Matron, the guard and I all watched in amazement as he held it up to his nose, breathed deeply, and sighed happily. “Home again, home again, jiggedy– jig!” he crowed triumphantly; and continued to wave his prize, chuckling and singing all the way.

~*~

When Boromir returned, grumpy as usual from his morning’s lessons, he got the surprise of his young life: Faramir running to greet him, shouting “Happy birthday, Bo’mir! Here’s your fat pig!” as he proudly presented his brother the lemon. It was the first, and last, time I ever saw Boromir at a total loss for words.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's note from Ann:** And it's even based on a true story.  
>  Well, true except for Boromir and Faramir and the Nanny and the market. But one of my daughters did resolutely refuse to speak a single word until she was absolutely convinced that she had figured out grammar, and vocabulary,and all that stuff. She spoke her first words at a Christmas Eve dinner party to a perfect stranger, who couldn't understand why we were so amazed by the conversation.


End file.
